


hellas in a handbasket

by burnthisout



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, aelorcan is my brotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnthisout/pseuds/burnthisout
Summary: His next retort is on the tip of his tongue as he realises he’s actually having fun messing with her. She can give as good as she gets, and she doesn’t roll her eyes and refuse to bite the way Whitethorn would, doesn’t take it too far the way the young wolf would.5 times Rowan finds drunken Aelin and Lorcan causing trouble + 1 time he gets them started. post-koa aelorcan bonding.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Lorcan Salvaterre, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn, Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre
Comments: 10
Kudos: 113





	hellas in a handbasket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cicada_bones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicada_bones/gifts).



> tumblr: seasonofthewicth

Lord Lorcan Lochan, she still laughs every time she hears his name, is not her favourite person. He is her favourite person, however, to beat at cards. 

Aelin isn’t sure how they ended up here, just the two of them. He and Elide are visiting from Perranth on ‘ _ official business _ ’ which she knows is just code for visiting their friends. Aelin has loved having Elide here; she missed out on so much time with Elide in the years they were apart, and she takes every chance she can to see her now that Terrasen has begun to settle and rebuild. 

She’s not sure what time Elide drifted off to bed, and she knows Rowan’s meeting with the Ambassador from Wendlyn is likely to run long, but she hadn’t expected herself to end up here, in a booth in the back corner of a small, dark tavern in Orynth with  _ Lorcan _ . 

Their relationship is… better than it was. Better than when they first met and he had hated her with a burning passion for stealing Rowan away, better even than when he had begrudgingly sworn the blood oath to her on that small boat just over a year ago. 

That said, it doesn’t stop him from slurring, “You’re a fucking bitch.”

He swipes a hand over the back of his mouth, wiping away any droplets of the ale left in his thick stubble. She frowns in disgust. 

“Speak for yourself,” She says properly, looking back down to where she’s spread her winning hand on the sticky tabletop. “It’s not my fault you’re awful at this game.”

He offers her a sarcastic smile, unamused as always at her sense of humour. 

“I could always make you win,” She says, all too sweetly. “Deal another round.” 

With a gentle tug on the blood oath between them she cocks her head at him. Lorcan bears his teeth but gathers the cards up to deal again, unable to fight the order, no matter how small. 

Aelin leans back in her seat, smiling slightly, as he flips the cards neatly into two piles in front of them. 

She revels in the fact that she never normally has to use the pull of the oath, confident in the devotion Rowan, Aedion and Fenrys offer her without question- well, without serious question. None of them are inclined to bite their tongue if they ever disagree with her, but still, she never feels the need to use it. 

She wants to with Lorcan sometimes, simply just to wind him up, but Rowan always seems to catch her mid thought and raises a silver eyebrow. 

It’s always some version of  _ causing trouble again, Fireheart? _

She only ever answers  _ yes _ . 

She picks up her cards, and grins over the top of them at Lorcan, who is already scowling at her and then back down at his cards. It really is just luck how she keeps winning, but he doesn’t need to know that. Let him believe she’s a cheat, Aelin doesn’t care, she will empty his pouch of gold by the end of the night. 

She tosses a card down onto the table and takes another swig of her ale as Lorcan frowns at the card she has put down. His knee begins bouncing under the table and she knows she’s won again already. 

She bites her lip to try and stop the cunning grin from spreading across her face, but from the dark rumbling sensation she feels stirring it doesn’t work. He picks the card up and throws down one of his own, and as if by magic, it’s the card she needs. 

With half a thought she decorates her brow with a glowing circlet of fire and Lorcan throws his cards onto the table with a growl. The rumbling grows louder, and the tavern seems to darken. 

She has half a mind to look around and check none of the other patrons have noticed, she knows they will have, but winding Lorcan up is worth the tongue-lashing she’ll get from the Lords of Terrasen about her un-queen-like behaviour. 

In a second though the darkness is gone, and the crown of flame atop her head is put out. The scent of pine and snow fills her and she settles into the presence of her mate. 

“You two,” Rowan starts, “Are causing a little bit of a commotion.”

He’s smiling at them though as he approaches, his sharp canines shining in the dim light, so she knows they’re not in trouble. 

“She started it,” Lorcan mutters and she laughs in his face. 

Rowan only sighs, the sound of someone tired of playing mediator, but he signals to the barkeep for another round and takes the seat next to her, picking up the discarded cards to shuffle for another round. 

\-- 

Lorcan knows he has mellowed in the past year or so. The release from the torment that was serving under Maeve, and the torturous longing that came with it, was more than a weight off his shoulders. 

But he maintains that he still hates Aelin Galathynius, or whatever the far too long string of words her name is. He hates her. 

“You know this is a bad idea,” He says as he strides into the small study he knows she works in in the cold of a winter afternoon.

The fire is burning bright in the fireplace, but the carefully arranged stack of wood doesn’t seem to char, and he scowls even more. 

She turns a clearly fake look of innocence onto him, “What is, my darling blood-sworn?”

He hates that too, hates that he is sworn to her and her country, as if she hasn’t already won everything else in her pathetically short life, she’s won him too. Even if a small part of him reluctantly respects her for the way she runs her court. 

The oath is to protect and serve Terrasen, not her, and he can feel it in his blood. Without it he would protect Elide until his dying breath, and even then he’d go down fighting, but the openness of this oath, the freedom it allows him, is refreshing. And he’ll never admit it, to anyone, but he’s proud to serve Terrasen. 

“This,” He says and holds up the proposal she had drafted for the arrangements for the court to travel to the witch territory. He doesn’t want to see that other bitch-queen either, but Elide is excited, so he’ll put up and shut up. 

She stands, the loose cotton of her dress unrolling as she glides over to a drinks tray in the corner of the room. 

“Take a seat,” is all she says. 

She doesn’t use the oath, and he appreciates how little she does, but he would have expected it at something as small as that. She likes to use it on him just when she knows it will rile him the most, on stupid shit that she knows he’ll do anyway, with or without the tug deep within him. 

He almost deliberates over it, but decides ultimately it isn’t worth it. Young she may be, but the queen in front of him can put a male in his place. 

She hands the small glass, with an inch of a brown spirit in the bottom, to him as she takes her own seat opposite him. 

“So?” She raises an eyebrow as she curls up opposite him, taking a sip of her own drink. 

“So you need to redo it all.” 

He has trained for centuries for how to navigate these things. This stupid young girl knows nothing. She only smirks at him over the rim of his glass, and he curses himself for what he’s about to say next. 

He tosses the piece of parchment across the floor between them and it flutters to the ground. “I added my suggestions for what would work better.”

The way she balances her chin on her fist, with the corners of her lips pulled upwards, tells him he’s fallen right into her trap. She knows the plans were bullshit, she just also knows he would plan it far better than she would. 

“Bitch,” He curses but she only smirks. 

“You’re centuries old, do you not know any other words? Bitch is so old by now.”

He draws up a tiny reel of his power, Whitethorn would skin him if he touched a pretty hair on the head of his mate, but it still feels good to do it. 

“Bitch,” is all he says as he sends the tendril of his power over to her. 

“Dog,” She snarks back as he feels the warmth of flame across his brow. She didn’t even have to blink to throw it at him, and he dulls the part of his brain that is impressed at her skill. 

His next retort is on the tip of his tongue as he realises he’s actually having fun messing with her. She can give as good as she gets, and she doesn’t roll her eyes and refuse to bite the way Whitethorn would, doesn’t take it too far the way the young wolf would. 

“You’re scaring the staff.” Whitethorn’s voice is amused as it drifts in from the doorway where he leans, broad arms crossed over his chest, pulling against the deep green tunic he wears. 

He hadn’t realised how dark he had let it get, or how warm the queen had managed to make it. 

“It’s all him,” she says, as her mate comes to rest by her side. 

Rowan brings a hand up to lightly stroke a path down her back, and Lorcan thinks it’s nice to see Whitethorn so happy. Gods, he’s getting soft in his old age, but maybe Elide has shown him it is more than okay to feel this way. 

He’ll pretend that isn’t another thing he owes to the Queen of Terrasen. 

\-- 

Aelin likes messing with Lorcan,  _ loves _ it even, but honestly, this time was an accident. 

She probably didn’t need to invite Elide and Lorcan on their trip to the Southern Continent but she thinks she deserves the trip, and the sunlight. Perranth is known for the rain and she knows that no matter how much Elide loves to be home she doesn’t love the rain. 

She doesn’t give a shit how Lorcan feels, but where Elide goes, he goes. 

And maybe that’s a lie, maybe she’s glad he’s here too, and not just for Rowan. Maybe she enjoys it when they end up just the two of them, drinking and talking shit. Maybe she knew exactly what would happen when she asked everyone if they fancied a drink and Lorcan was the only one up for it. 

She’d rather burn all her favourite gowns than tell him that though. 

Aelin hadn’t meant for the fighter to overhear her comment to Lorcan while they watched the street fight from a distance. They were beginning to make their way back to the palace after drinking their fill in one of the taverns nearby. 

“Trust me, you could beat him blindfolded,” she had said, slapping the back of her hand against his chest. 

“Shut up,” He had all but growled, barely in the mood to play tonight, still grouchy from his inability to sleep during their journey across the sea. 

Apparently she had spoken too loudly for them to go undetected and the organiser had called out to them. 

“You don’t trust her?” He had asked, his accent twisting around the words.

Aelin doesn’t know how he knew to use the common tongue, maybe something about them stood out in the crowd. Maybe Lorcan’s height or the dark energy that emanates from him at all times. 

She’s hoping the hood of her cloak hides her identity, hopes it hides the bright gold of her hair, and keeps it a secret that the Queen of Terrasen is hidden away in the crowd, watching this street fight unfold. 

Lorcan had only snorted and replied, “Our friendship is purely built on lies, I second guess everything she says.”

She had smacked him again as the organiser proposed his challenge to Lorcan, but she couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed at his choice of words.  _ Friendship _ . 

She should have put an end to it there, and when Rowan asks, she tried, but she couldn’t resist poking Lorcan when the challenge was made.

Now he stands in the centre of the crowd, knees bent and fists raised in front of himself. She wasn’t serious about the blindfold, but apparently the townspeople were. The man strikes and Lorcan blocks, the smile still not leaving his face. She shouts a taunt and he flips the finger in her general direction. The man uses it as an opportunity to strike, but Lorcan doesn’t miss it. 

He uses an arm to block the man’s blow and uses his leg to trip the man’s feet out from under him. The man hits the ground with an  _ oof _ and Lorcan tugs the blindfold off. Game over. 

This street fight isn’t the same level as the ones in the pits that Arobynn challenged her to fight in. She would have never put Lorcan forward if it was. It might be questionable for a queen and one of her blood-sworn to be here, but it’s still  _ technically _ legal. She’s tipsy, not stupid.

Lorcan sketches a mocking bow to the crowd and she cheers as a strong arm wraps around her waist and the warmth of her mate appears at her back. She leans back into him automatically and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“I take it, this is your doing?” He asks, his tone bright with amusement.

She knows he used to be concerned about her relationship with his former commander, knows it used to worry him how they were at each other's throats, and she’ll never forget the look on his face when Lorcan had a blade to her throat that day in Rifthold. She’s confident he knows they’re settled now. 

She turns in his arms to look up to his face in the dark. 

_ How could you assume such a thing? _ She raises a brow, but beneath the cloak he probably can’t see. 

All she can make out beneath his own hood is the shine of his fangs through his smile and the etchings of his tattoo across the lower planes of his handsome face. 

_ Because it’s you. _ He leans down to press the briefest of kisses to her lips.  _ And him. _

She only shrugs, she can’t deny the regularity at which she ends up in situations like this with Lorcan. She can’t deny enjoying them either. 

\-- 

“What, you don’t like my majestic beard?”

Lorcan knows he’s over five centuries old, but he has downed enough ale that he doesn’t care as he leans over to the young Queen of Terrasen, close enough to get in her space and risk rubbing his rough beard across her skin.

She isn’t amused, the fire of her temper already prompting beads of sweat down the back of his neck.

“I want to burn that animal off your face.”

Lorcan laughs far too loudly, and he’s vaguely aware of some of the young sentries at the nearest table looking over with concern, before quickly emptying the table at the dark sound erupting from his chest. 

“So touchy today, been a while without Whitethorn has it?”

Something flickers in her unusual eyes at the mention of her King-Consort,  _ her mate _ , and his trip to Adarlan. The striking contrast of the blue and gold is something he has always found intriguing about the Ashryvers of Wendlyn. Meeting the queen and the pain in his arse that is her cousin quickly ended his curiosity. 

He’s struck, deep and low in his chest, at the thought of the General, and his father who Lorcan served beside for hundreds of years. Gavriel. He thinks about the male often, misses him every day in ways that he hadn’t thought himself capable of. 

The tribute to the Lion of Doranelle that now stands in Orynth is something he takes time to visit everytime he comes to Terrasen. He has to give the Queen that, it’s a beautiful statue, and paints Gavriel in the light he deserves. 

He shakes himself, he’s a fucking morose drunk sometimes. Gavriel wouldn’t want him here moping. 

Aelin seems to do the same, ready to fight fire with fire. “I know what you and Elide got up to last night, in  _ my castle  _ I might add, so I’m surprised you’re still so tightly wound. Struggles performing, old man?”

“Fuck you,” He says but he’s grinning at the blonde woman staring him down. He finally knows by now that the twist of her mouth isn’t anger, she’s trying to hold back her own laughter. 

He brings a hand up to poke her on the nose, but she bats it away before he can get there. Shit, maybe he’s had more to drink than he thought. 

“That’s not my job,” She grins at him and he throws his head back to laugh. 

“You’re disgusting,” He tells her, barely holding down the urge he has to yank on her braid. 

She just grins up at him and takes a very un-royal swig of her ale, before slamming the tankard back down on the table beside them. 

“I’m not sure I want to know what this is about,” His wife’s voice sounds behind him and he spins so fast he stumbles to the side. 

He hears the queen cackle behind him and he flips her off as he nods his greeting to Whitethorn who scoops her up under an arm. 

“You’re back!” He hears the queen cry, the words a shriek that travels over the noise of the tavern.

He throws himself at Elide, wrapping the delicate woman tightly into his embrace and breathing her in. He doesn’t trust his mouth to land on hers if he tries to kiss her, so he settles for pressing his face into her hair and breathing her in deeply. 

Elide laughs and he squeezes her in even tighter. He’s less afraid of displaying his feelings now, now that he’s not constantly waiting for the disaster around the corner. He trusts Aelin’s rule, and she has Whitethorn at her side, and what’s left of his Cadre. 

She has him too, if she ever needs him. 

\-- 

She’s past the point of pretending she’s not seeking Lorcan out, and she thinks he’s at the same point too. She likes spending time with him, just the two of them, and who could have ever seen that coming?

Rowan has this one small smile when she says she’s off to see Lorcan, one that says he’s elated, but doesn’t want to make too much of a big deal in case she changes her mind. She thinks Elide probably has one of the same. 

This tavern is busy and they probably could have gone somewhere quieter, but she likes it. She likes being with her people, in the crowds and the conversations. She basks in it, and she’s unashamed in her belief that it’s where she’s meant to be. 

It’s her turn to get their round. They’ve set up camp at a small wooden table in the back of the dark room, and she weaves in and out of the crowds to make her way back, the two large tankards clasped in her hands. 

The thing is, Aelin is a trained assassin. She’s been trained by the most powerful Fae male alive, she should be able to keep her footing, but apparently she’s a lightweight. Sober Aelin would have seen the spill on the floor, or at least would have been able to stay upright. 

Drunk Aelin is another story altogether, and drunk Aelin slides. 

She manages to right herself relatively quickly, but the ale is out of her hands before she can blink, waves of it flying over the wooden floor and sloshing up the boots of the nearest patron. 

The young demi-fae turns, and she knows from the expression on his face that this is going south. Quickly. 

“Watch it,” He hisses. 

She has her hood up, golden hair and striking blue eyes hidden away, but she likes to think that she should still be recognisable, even in the woolen tunic and trousers she wears. It’s a far cry from her usual queenly get-up, but still. 

She’s almost offended. 

“I’m sorry,” She says all too sweetly, too pissed to pretend to mean it, and the demi-fae narrows his eyes. He hasn’t missed her tone, or her dismissal of his command. 

“I said watch it.” He steps closer to her now, and she levels her stare at him. Her power is writhing within her, hot and angry, begging to be let out on this male, and she clenches her fists. 

Aelin takes a deep breath. She is his queen, and she is better than allowing her temper to run wild, no matter how much she wants to let her body drop into a fighting stance. 

But she doesn’t need to. She blinks and Lorcan is at her side, his teeth bared at the offender. 

His voice is low and dark, and quiet in a way that promises violence, as he says “I would suggest that you watch your mouth.”

The demi-fae makes a reckless move and laughs, she’s not sure how he has the confidence to stand against both her and one of her blood-sworn, but they’re both still hidden under the hoods of their capes. 

She can feel the restrained violence in Lorcan’s posture next to her, she can feel the waves of darkness beginning to wash over her, and she’s reminded of the fact that it’s a comfort now to feel that. Gone are the days when the touch of Lorcan’s power drew fear up inside of her. 

She knows he won’t move until she says, knows that he understands she can handle herself, but she appreciates his swiftness to act in her defense. 

Aelin opens her mouth, a fiery retort waiting on the tip of her tongue, but the tavern falls silent. She snaps her mouth shut as she hears the murmurs that build throughout the room,  _ your highness _ , they say. 

“Good evening,” Rowan nods to the group of demi-fae as he slots into his place beside her. She’s flanked now by two of her blood-sworn warriors. “Is there a problem here?”

She knows from his tone of voice that his expression is icy, daring one of the males to raise a challenge. She tugs down her hood and the one to start the commotion pales at the sight of her. 

“No-no, your majesty. Ap- apologies,” He stutters. 

Aelin offers him a tight nod, says “Sorry about your boots,” and turns to the door, her jovial evening over. 

Once outside Rowan turns to them, “What was that?”

She feels as if she’s back at Mistward, looking up at Rowan wearing the expression of a disappointed mentor. 

“She started it,” Lorcan mumbles under his breath, and she jerks to glare at him.

“That is such shit-” She starts, readying to defend herself even though it was totally her fault, as she turns back to Rowan. But he’s biting his lip, his green eyes creasing at the corners as he holds in his laugh. 

“You two don’t go anywhere without adult supervision,” He says laughing and slinging an arm around her shoulders. 

She pokes her head around Rowan to stick her tongue out at Lorcan. His returning middle finger makes her laugh, loud and joyously. 

So maybe Lord Lorcan Lochan  _ is _ one of her favourite people.

\-- 

Being King-Consort to the Queen of Terrasen is a position Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius enjoys. He loves the people of Terrasen, and the country itself. He loves serving a queen who is noble and brave and strong. 

He loves his wife,  _ his mate _ , and the life they live together. He thanks the gods every day that he gets to spend the rest of his existence by her side. 

One thing he does not love is the paperwork. 

He runs a hand down his face, scratching the lines of his tattoo, as he squints at one of the pages. He stopped being able to think properly a couple of hours ago. Rowan skims through the words on the paper, holding the sheet up to the one remaining candle on his desk. The only ones of note are Adarlan and Terrasen, and he decides that everything else can be a task for tomorrow. 

He shuffles the papers into a somewhat orderly pile and rises from his desk, sending a tendril of his power to blow out the candle as he leaves the room. 

A sentry bows before him and hands him a small note as he makes his way to his wife. He nods his thanks as he continues down the dimly lit halls. 

The palace at Orynth is a place he is glad to call home, it’s not the oldest castle he has known in all his years, but it has character and history. It’s kept warm by the remnants of power his wife managed to cling on to. 

He reaches the royal quarters quickly and finds his mate in bed. Aelin is curled beneath the sheets with a book clutched in her hands. 

The smile she gives him when he enters is bright and easy and it makes his chest feel warm. 

“This might be Dorian’s best recommendation yet,” She says as he comes over to her side, holding the book high with a finger wedged between the pages to keep her place.

“Is that so?” He says with a smile. 

His mate’s relationship with the King of Adarlan is another thing he is thankful for. He knows Aelin loves the correspondence she receives and the gifts he sends. Aelin always has him on the lookout for ones she can send in return. 

Aelin nods enthusiastically as he takes a seat by her feet. 

“Is this you all tucked up for the night?” He asks. Aelin raises an eyebrow and places the book carefully on the table by the side of the bed. 

“I’m not tired,” She says and begins to throw the sheets back, a hungry look in her eyes. 

Rowan cups her cheek with his palm and drops a delicate kiss to her lips. He allows himself to place another before gently pulling back. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I like where your mind is going.”

Aelin kisses him again, rising up to her knees to press into the kiss. 

Rowan allows himself a minute before pulling back finally to pass along the message he received. “Our guests have arrived, slightly ahead of schedule.”

Aelin jerks back, enough to smile widely at him, before throwing herself out of the bed and tugging her boots onto her feet. 

The stables are always cold, the winters in Terrasen are known for being brutal, but he just presses himself further into his mate as they wait. The smell of her is divine, and he feels settled as he breathes her in. 

Finally, their guests appear a short distance away, and his wife throws herself out of the circle of his arms and into those of his former commander. 

He smiles at Elide and presses a friendly kiss to her cheek as they watch their lovers embrace. 

Aelin is dangling above the floor as she clings to the Lord of Perranth and Rowan smiles as she returns to the ground. They’re already bickering about something Rowan is unaware of, but it’s not unexpected, he knows how they work by now. 

He had hoped that their relationship would have the opportunity to develop but he could have never dreamed that they would reach this point. Rowan thinks they could be closer than he and Lorcan ever were themselves, and the thought isn’t unpleasant. 

The pair reach where he stands with Elide and their contrast is stark. Lorcan, with his dark hair and sharp features towers over where Aelin stands, glowing bright and gold. 

He clasps hands with Lorcan, who nods his head in acknowledgement. 

“Good to see you, is it too late for a drink?” He proposes. 

Aelin and Lorcan share a look, and something passes between them before she turns back to Rowan. Aelin smiles brightly as she links her fingers through Rowan's and leads the way back into the castle.


End file.
